


Reunited

by Lisaeleonor



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, John Watson Thinks Sherlock Holmes is Dead, Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Smut, One Shot, POV Sherlock Holmes, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26898535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisaeleonor/pseuds/Lisaeleonor
Summary: Sherlock comes back from the dead, it doesn't goes as planed.TWMentions of suicideatempt, alcoholism, panic attacks and torture.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Reunited

**Author's Note:**

> There is mentions of suicideatempt, alcoholism, panic attacks and torture.

Sherlock looked at the brown door in front of him. If John didn’t open, it would take him approximately three minutes to get in. It was a cheap sort, fit only to keep flies out. Sherlock would have thought that a landlord in a neighbourhood like this, where the crimerates were high would invest in better doors. He wondered how John could sleep here. He shook his head. Scolding himself for thinking about nonsens instead of just knocking. He was stalling, that was it. He had thought of this moment for two years. Every second since he jumped from the roof of S.t Barts, his goal had been to get back to John. In his fantasy John had stayed in Baker street and not moved to this depressing housing complex. Sherlock hoped that other parts of his fantasy would prove more true. He was suddenly afraid. Angry with himself for the weakness, he raised his hand and knocked. He could hear footsteps inside and the shuffle of two safety chains. He smiled, thinking that some things hadn’t changed. Then John opened and Sherlock could see that other things had. John had lost weight. He had never been fat. But he was well built. His training habits from the army had stuck. And with a diet of beans on toast and takeaway ment that he was never thin. Even when Sherlock met him and had seen how little he had eaten since leaving the army, that weightloss had still been hidden beneath the muscles. He had looked fit then. Now he looked ill. The skin was starting to sag in his face, he had dark circles under his eyes. He had new wrinkles. Not the nice kind that came from laughing and smiling. These were from frowning. Sadness etched into his face permanently. It took John a moment to realise who was standing in the doorway. When he did, he took a step back.Sherlock took one forward and closed the door behind him. Saving himself from the risk of getting the door slammed in his face. John stood still a few feet from him. Sherlock had thought he would look happy, at least a bit. He could understand that this came as a chock, but still.   
“Sherlock…” John’s voice was barely a whisper. Still, his voice made Sherlock feel at ease, at home.   
“Hello” he said. His smile faltered almost at once since he didn’t get a response from John.   
“You… how?” Sherlock smiled again. Nice of John to ask the important questions at once.  
“It was actually a rather clever plan. It was my idea, Mycroft helpt but still most of it…” Sherlock trailed off. He had realised as soon as he said cleaver that it had been a mistake. John looked livid. He walked up to Sherlock, buried his fist in Sherlock’s shirt and pushed him against the door. Sherlock vinced, it wasn’t that long ago he had been whipped.   
“You bastard, you fucking twat. You and your fucking cleaver plans. I watched you jump, I watched you die!” For every word in the last sentence he pushed Sherlock harder against the wall. Sherlock didn’t do anything. He had learned long ago that John often showed one emotion with his body and another one with his eyes. His body was all about rage, he was well in Sherlock’s personal space, he didn’t meet Sherlock’s eyes so he couldn’t deduce his true emotions. And still strong despite his weight loss. Sherlock felt something trickle down his back and wondered if one of his wounds had started to bleed. It could just be sweat, the apartment was stuffy. Then John stopped pushing him and just stood there panting. Sherlock tried to meet his gaze but John had his eyes fixed on his hand that was nog splayed over Sherlock’s heart. His heart was beating rather calmly despite the situation. He was confident that John wouldn’t hurt him for real.   
“I… “John seemed lost for words. He finally met Sherlock’s gaze. He looked hurt, his eyes full with tears. Sherlock started to realise that it wasn’t just the word cleaver that had been a mistake. He was still trying to find something to say when John kissed him. That it took Sherlock by surprise was an understatement. Both that John was actually kissing him, that was something new. And the fact that it wasn’t a very good kiss. It was more of a pressing of lips against each other, and it was wet and salty. It reminded Sherlock of the kind of kiss he had gotten once when he was twelve. He hadn’t had much experience since then so maybe kissing was just one of those things people did that he didn’t particularly like. But he had assumed John was good at kissing. His girlfriends had always stayed long after they should have broken up with him so Sherlock had assumed he was good at the physical things of a relationship to make up for his lack of emotions. But John’s hand that wasn’t over his heart was now in the nape of his neck, pulling him forward. That was a more enjoyable touch. Sherlock’s hands were hovering over John’s arms, wondering if he should pull John closer or push him away. Before he could make up his mind though, John broke off the kiss and stepped back a bit.   
“I…” John touched his lips with one hand, not meeting Sherlock’s eyes.   
“I shouldn't have done that.” Now he looked embarrassed as well as sad. Tears were glistening on his red cheeks.   
“I’m sorry” Sherlock said with a low voice.   
“For what?” John actually met Sherlock’s eyes then. He looked surprised in the middle of all the hurt, grief and anger.   
“For dying.” It wasn’t what Sherlock had planned to say, but it was the truest thing he could think of now that he saw John. Saw what he had done. It had been clever and it had been necessary. But it had broken John. John made a sound halfway between a giggle and a sob.   
“Well you didn’t, did you?” The bitterness in his voice was easy to hear. Sherlock was lost for words. This had gotten so out of hand. 

“I need a drink” John said. Turning around and stomping out into the kitchen. Sherlock took a moment to close his eyes and compose himself before he followed. John had poured himself a glass of some clear liquor. The bottle was already half empty and looked like a cheap, generic brand. Not the whiskey John had usually bought and only drank once in a while. Did John have a drinking problem now? Sherlock stored that worry for a later time. John was standing with his back against the counter and eyeing Sherlock with the most direct gaze he had had since Sherlock entered the apartment. The daze and shock was gone.  
“Are you using again?”   
“What?” The question came as such a surprise to Sherlock that he smiled. Anger flared in John's eyes so he quickly sombered his face. He looked around in the small kitchen, there was only room for a small table and two chairs. If he took two large steps he would be right infront of John.  
“No, I’m not. That’s not why.” Sherlock could see that John wasn’t convinced. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the arms over his elbows. John took a step forward as Sherlock stretched out both of his arms for John to see. John touched Sherlock’s wrist where there were still red marks from the restraints he had been in just days before.   
“What’s this?” John asked. Sherlock shrugged, not really listening. He had seen something on John’s arm and now he tried to understand what he had seen.   
“Let me see your arm.” he said, reaching out. But John was faster. He drew back his arm and backed away so he stood with his back against the counter. His reaction told Sherlock what he had seen and his head started spinning. It couldn’t be.   
“Show me” he said. But John just folded his arms over his chest and looked at Sherlock defiantly.   
“You have no right coming in here after two years making demands.” Sherlock wanted to contradict John, tell him he hadn’t been gone for two years. He had made it back before the two year mark.   
“Either you show me or I come and look anyway.” Sherlock’s voice wasn’t more than a whisper. He was scared and angry and it made it hard to talk. John met his eyes, daring him to do anything. There weren’t many times Sherlock used his larger frame against John. He had felt it was polite to let John think he would win in a fight between them. Now he didn’t care. He took the two steps he needed to be up close with John and pried his arm away from his body. He pulled up John’s sweater with force. John tried to pull away but he was trapped between Sherlock and the counter and didn’t have much room to maneuver. When he had confirmed his fears Sherlock took John’s other arm and did the same on that one. Then he just stood there with John’s wrist in a firm grip. On both of his arms there were the telltale scars of someone who had tried to take his own life. John took advantage of Sherlock’s shock and pushed him hard in the chest. Sherlock stumbled back, still trying to process what he had seen. He tried frantically to find another reason for scars like that. Even if he could find another reason, he saw the truth in John’s face.   
“Why…?” He croaxed, still struggling to clear his mind. John had tried to end his life. Sherlock could have done everything he had done the last two years and John could have been dead when he came back. He could have lived in a world without John.   
“Lestrade took my gun. I would have succeeded if he hadn’t meddled in things he shouldn't have.” Sherlock felt the room spin and his knees grow weak. He tried closing his eyes but that made everything worse. The only thing he could see was John putting his gun in his mouth, his head exploding, Johns blood on the walls. He felt nauseated.   
“You could have died” he had meant to sound angry but it came out as a whisper. John rolled his eyes. In that moment, Sherlock couldn’t see anything of his John in the person standing in front of him.   
“That was the point.” Tears were rising in Sherlock’s eyes. He hadn’t cried in front of someone in over two decades and wasn’t going to start in front of this John-copy. He turned around and walked back into the hallway, trying to get his breath back. He felt bile rising in the back of his throat.   
“You’re bleeding” he heard John say. He had walked to the doorway between the kitchen and hallway. Sherlock had a hard time looking at him, for once he could understand John’s urge to hit people. He ignored John, trying to remember if he knew anything about panic attacks. He was pretty sure it was what he had but he had no clue how to make it stop.   
“Your shirt, there's blood on it.” Anger filled Sherlock, making it easier to breathe again. This was how John did it, react with anger instead of sadness, it made a lot of things easier. He spun around and faced John and bellowed.   
“YOU COULD HAVE DIED. I RISKED MY LIFE FOR YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL…” words failed him there. He wasn’t one for swearing but nothing else seemed to cut it. John walked up to Sherlock and shoved him hard in the chest. But Sherlock stood his ground this time.   
“YOU DIED YOU PRICK!” John bellowed back. Sherlock could feel John’s breath on his face, he smelled of alcohol. Sherlock showed John back. Hard enough to make him stagger back.   
“FOR YOU! I jumped off that sodding roof to save you and you just… you could have…”Sherlock started to feel short of breath again. His line of vision was getting smaller. He could see darkness growing in his peripheral vision.   
“Sherlock” John said. He wasn’t shouting any more, instead he sounded concerned. Sherlock looked at him, though he had a hard time focusing. John took Sherlock’s vrist in his hand and checked his pulse. He shuddered as he did it.   
“You’re having a panic attack Sherlock, try to take a deep breath.”   
“I.. “Sherlock tried but failed. That his body didn’t obey his mind made him even more stressed. He never lost control like this.   
“I could have lost you.”   
“I know,” John said gently. Sherlock was grateful that he didn’t make a snide remark. He could realise that what he felt now was nothing compared to what John had endured.   
“But I’m alive and you’re alive so we can be in this mess instead.” John smiled feebly.   
“If you don’t breath for me soon, you won’t be here so please try.” John stroke his hands slowly up and down over Sherlocks upper arms. Sherlock found that he could synk his breathing to John’s movements. It helped him to calm his breathing down and he was actually able to take a real breath. His vision was coming back to him and his heart wasn’t racing as hard.   
“There you go.” John said. Sherlock pulled his hands over his face, embarrassed by the tears and total lack of control. 

John was still moving his hands up and down Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock hoped he would never stop. Maybe it was the time appart but he was more aware of John’s physical presence now. Or maybe he had just forgotten how affected he got by John. It felt like his fingers were firing a smal electrical current. Still a bit dazed, he met John’s eyes. They were dark and serious. Sherlock grabbed hold of John’s sweater before he had a chance to back away. Then, without a proper thought, just acting on a hunch. He leaned in and kissed John. He had always trusted his hunched, they were just answers to facts he hadn’t processed yet. This one surprised him though, he hadn’t really enjoyed the first kiss. But this one was different, not as rough. John stood frozen, his hands had stopped their wandering. Sherlock hoped that he would snap out of it and take charge of the kiss. He knew kissing could involve more than this simple pressing of lips together, but he had no idea how to get from point A to point B. Then John seemed to wake up and he tilted his head a bit and then they fitted together much more nicely. Sherlock placed his hand at the nape of John’s neck to prevent him from pulling back too soon. This had just gotten interesting, he didn’t want it to end just yet. This was far nicer than it had been before and he thought that his suspicions about John’s abilities had been right. John was touching his face and weaving his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. It gave him goosebumps. When Sherlock felt John’s toung against his own he made a sound that should have been embarrassing if John hadn’t made a similar sound. Sherlock put one arm around John’s waist and pulled him closer. They both gasped and broke off the kiss when they felt the telltale sign of the other one's arousal. They looked at each other for a moment before they closed the gap between them and kissed again. Sherlock’s head was spinning, he wondered why they had never done this before, and if they would ever do it again. Could he ever live without this now that he knew how addictive it was. He tried to touch every ince of John he could reach. Only above the belt, he didn’t dare to do more than that. John had one arm cupped around Sherlock’s cheek. The other one slid down Sherlock’s back to press him against John. Sherlock couldn’t help a wince as pain shot through his back. He took a step back and John ended the kiss.   
“Jesus christ Sherlock, that was…” He shook his head and pulled his hands through his hair. Sherlock thought it must be a new habit.   
“Surprisingly nice” Sherlock said honestly without thinking. Most of his bloodflow had traveled south leaving him a bit lightheaded. He had thought he was kissing John just for his sake. Now he wanted to continue for a lot of selfish reasons. John started laughing, bending forward and put his hands on his knees. He seemed to be having a hard time stopping laughing. It felt to Sherlock like it took a long time for him to silence and straighten up. Then he saw Sherlock’s confused look and started giggling again. Then, at last he pulled himself together.   
“I would have used different words but okay” he said smilingly. Sherlock wanted to kiss that smile, wanted to trace his finger over it. He wasn’t sure he was allowed though. He had no idea what this meant for John. John sombered a bit as he picked up on Sherlock’s insecurity.   
“What’s wrong?”   
“I don’t know what this.” Sherlock indicated them both with his hand.  
“Means.” He felt out of his depth. More than he had in a long time. John took Sherlock’s hand, but didn’t move closer. Still, Sherlock saw it as a good sign.   
“What do you want it to mean?” Sherlock shrugged and winced.  
“I don’t know.” John smiled a faint smile.   
“Guess I have to go first then.” He paused, seemingly to pluck up the courage to continue.   
“I love you.” he said. Looking like he had just made a high jump. Sherlock felt relieved, he knew what to say to this.   
“I love you too”, he said quickly. John smiled, looking a bit sad and shook his head.   
“But I love you in a want to kiss you all the time, sleep in the same bed, and do a whole lot of other fun things in that bed- kind of way.” Sherlock blushed. He knew what John was getting at and knew why he didn’t think Sherlock felt the same.   
“I…” He started and then fell silent again. He had no idea how he would explain what he felt and had thought about his feelings.   
“I think I need a drink for this conversation, John said.   
“Do you want one?” Alcohol wasn’t Sherlock’s drug of choice but he shared John’s sentiment.   
“Sure.” He followed John into the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway and waited for John to give him his glas. He didn’t feel like sitting down at the table. He didn’t want a solid object between him and John if he would like to continue with the kissing. And if they sat at a table facing each other, he would have to look at John. He didn’t want to do that saying what he had to say right now. But John seemed to have one of those moments when he could read Sherlock’s mind since he leaned against the wall next to Sherlock and sipped his drink. He was so close that Sherlock could reach out and touch him but Sherlock didn’t have to meet his eyes.   
“I don’t do sex.” he started. It sounded more crude said out loud than it had in his head. John choked on his drink.   
“I have wanted a life with you since the beginning, a life of… partnership. Though I know that you want more out of a relationship than I have been able to provide so I have chosen not to speak of my emotions. You have made it clear that you harbor no such emotions towards me or any other man and I didn’t want to embarrass you. But have no doubt of the strength of my feelings for you. I do love you and I do want to spend my life with you.” He stopped talking and dared to look at John. He had his head against the wall and was facing Sherlock, there were tears in his eyes.   
“I don’t know how much of myself physically I can give. However, I didn’t think I liked kissing ten minutes ago. If you want me like this, I’m yours.” Sherlock felt exposed in a way he had never done before. He had never been as frightened over an answer before either. It was both frightening and liberating. He knew that even if John would turn him down, he would do it gently. John didn’t answer, instead he moved so he stood in front of Sherlock, then leaned in and kissed him softly. Sherlock flinched as the weight of John made him press his back harder against the doorframe. John immediately stood back.

“Will you let me look at your back now?” Sherlock nodded. He felt a bit deflated, he had poured his heart out and John hadn’t answered.   
“Just… “ he said as John had turned around heading to the bathroom and the first aid-kit Sherlock assumed he had there. John turned around, his eyes widening as he saw Sherlock’s face.   
“Oh, I thought. Of course Sherlock, of course I want you. Any way but bloody.” he winked and left Sherlock alone with his throbbing heart and pink cheeks. He unbuttoned his shirt, wanting this interlude to last as short as possible. He hadn’t had time to move before John came back. He paused in the doorway, his eyes roaming over Sherlock’s naked chest. Sherlock blushed as he could read John’s thoughts clear as day. It made heat build in his stomach again. John cleared his throat but his voice was still a bit lower than usual when he spoke.   
“Can you sit down please?” he met Sherlock’s eyes and his started to twinkle. And then Sherlock could see the humour in the situation. John always made everything brighter. He could hear John’s sharp intake of breath when he saw Sherlock’s back.  
“Oh fuck, Sherlock. What happened?” John took the other chair in the kitchen and sat down behind Sherlock. Sherlock could hear him rummaging in the box he had brought from the bathroom.   
“I was done with dismembering Moriartys network and was heading home. I made a mistake and got caught by some people who thought I knew things about them that I shouldn't know and they wanted to know who sent me.” He startled as John put his hand on his shoulder, well away from the worst wounds.   
“They tortured you?” John’s voice was weak.   
“In short yes.” Sherlock waited as John composed himself. Soon he could feel something wet pressing against his back. He hissed as it stinged in his opened wounds. *  
“So…” John cleared his throat.   
“Thats what you've been doing these two years, you just kept on fighting Moriarty?”   
“One year, eleven months and five days,” Sherlock couldn’t resist this time. John’s hand stilled.   
“You kept count? John sounded surprised. Sherlock wanted to turn around to look at him but John started pulling out bandages and started to put them on Sherlock’s back so he stayed put. And it was easier to talk when he didn’t have to look at John. It almost felt like all the fantasies he had since he jumped off Bart's. He had talked to John in his head every day.   
“Mycroft estimated that it would take me two years to finish all of the cells. I hoped I would get done before that.” They sat in silence for a while. John finished with the bandages, Sherlock could hear him closing the first aid kit. John put one hand on his arm, resting it there for a bit before he stroked Sherlock’s arm down to his wrist. He checks Sherlock’s pulse again. Sherlock remains still, at a loss what to do.   
“I took your pulse, that day. When you… When you jumped.” John seemed to be struggling to get his words out. Sherlock almost wanted him to start yelling again. Something that wasn’t this broken voice a tremble from a sob.   
“I had to feel it for myself. I knew as soon as your feet left the ceiling that you would die. But I thought that if someone could survive that fall it could be you. You could have produced a miracle in some way. They didn’t want to let me touch you but I had to see it for myself. And it was gone, you didn’t have a pulse, you were dead.” John stopped talking, his breathing ragged. Sherlock suspected that he fought not to cry.   
“It wasn’t a miracle. It was a carefully calculated plan. I could tell you…” he trailed off. He could hear a huff coming from John.   
“I am too mad at you and Mycrofts plans. You say cleaver, I would use other words.”   
“Cruel.” Sherlock said quietly, not intending for John to hear it. But John’s grip tightened telling him that he had heard. They sat in silence while John got his breathing under control.   
“I am so mad at you.” John said. Sherlock wondered if it was the fact that John couldn’t see his face that made John open up about his feelings. It wasn’t either of their favourite subjects.   
“It was necessary to keep you safe.”   
“I DON’T CARE” John spat. Silence fell upon them again.   
“What I’m saying is that it could have been so easy to just be angry at you. But then you kissed me.”   
“You kissed me first!” Sherlock interjected.   
“True” Sherlock could hear a faint smile in John’s voice. He turned around, slowly enough to give John time to stop him. They looked at each other without saying anything. Sherlock had too many questions to ask to know where to start. He wanted to know about John’s drinking habits, about this apartment, about his attempted suicide even if that train of thought still petrified him. Then there were the questions about the kissing. John had said that he wanted him, what did that mean in the next twenty or so minutes? Where did they go from here? He knew what he wanted to do but had the feeling that it was John’s choice to make. John took his hand and brushed away some curls from Sherlock’s forehead. It left the skin tingling where they had touched. He closed his eyes, trying to save the feeling in his memory. He gripped John’s hand. Something to continue the physical contact but didn’t involve anything new. They had held hands before. Not in this setting but still, no new input. John seemed to take that as encouragement since he smiled and put his other hand on Sherlock’s cheek, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb. Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch, it felt too good.   
“Is this okay.” John asked quietly. Sherlock straightened up, a bit embarrassed by his obvious enjoyment of John’s touch. He had to clear his throat before he could answer.   
“Yes, it’s... good.” To prove his statement he leaned forward to kiss John. John’s hand returned to his cheek, holding him in place. Sherlock felt like he grounded him when the room seemed to be spinning. That he could do this, that he wanted to do this made his head spin. He licked John’s bottom lip and got a satisfied humming as a response and John opened his mouth. Sherlock took a deep breath as John started to play with the curls in his neck. Surely it wasn’t supposed to make him aroused, such a small thing. He tried to reaproach and was rewarded with a groan from John. And suddenly he was kissing Sherlock with more urgency. They had both moved forward in their chairs, now their knees were touching. Still, it wasn’t enough for Sherlock, John seemed to be seated too far away for comfort. He solved the problem by clambering onto John’s lap. It made them both gasp as his own erection brushed against John’s. Sherlock didn’t stop to think about what that meant. Instead he caught John’s mouth again. It had no right feeling this good, especially since he could have been doing this for years without realising he wanted to. John broke off the kiss.   
“Sherlock, wait. What are we doing?” Sherlock met John’s eyes. His pupils were dilated making his eyes look darker.   
“Kissing?” He answered but it sounded like a question. John smiled so the answer can’t have been that wrong. He leaned in for another kiss but John put his hand up between them to stop him. Without thinking, Sherlock licked one of his fingers. He was curious how they tasted and felt. He wanted to know everything about John that he didn’t already know. It made John groan and close his eyes. He didn’t remove his hand though, Sherlock took that as encouragement. He kissed the palm of John’s hand, hearing John’s breathing hitch. He tried to lick the place he had kissed. Then doing the same with all of John’s fingers.   
“Sherlock.” John’s said in a dark and breathless voice.   
“Mm.” Sherlock said. Not bothering with words.   
“Could you… “He trailed off, his eyes drifting close again. He cursed under his breath as Sherlock tried to suck at one of his fingers.   
“Please” he said but Sherlock wasn’t sure it meant please stop or please don’t stop. Airing on the safe side he stopped. John opened his eyes and met Sherlock’s eyes. He looked a bit embarrassed but smiled non the less. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Sherlock went cold and hurried to crawl back to his own chair. Not an easy thing to do in a dignified way. John leaned in trying to hold Sherlock’s hand but he kept himself busy putting on his shirt, looking down at his hands. The shirt was unpleasant to put on. It was spotted with dried blood that got stuck on his bandages. But it gave Sherlock an excuse to not look at John for a whole minute.  
“Sherlock I didn’t mean…” John’s voice trailed off. He abandoned his attempts to hold Sherlock’s hand and put it on Sherlock’s knee instead. It felt like it burned through the fabric like it wasn’t there.   
“Like it isn’t a good idea to be kissing me” Sherlock filled in, looking over John’s shoulder to the wall behind.   
“Look at me, Sherlock”. Sherlock hesitated, long enough for John to lose patients. He put his hand on Sherlock’s cheek and forced him to look. John looked even more like a mess than when he first opened the door. But a different kind of mess, and Sherlock thought but didn’t believe, a happier kind of mess. His hair was sticking out in places, his lips were swollen and his cheeks red.   
“That’s not what I meant” John said forcefully.   
“Then what?” John took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.   
“Don’t play stupid Sherlock it doesn’t suit you” Sherlock straightened up, preparing for a new fight.   
“I’m not”  
“So you are going to make me say it?”  
“Say what” John looked around the room. Seemingly searching for some inspiration or courage.   
“Well I’m not going to fuck you on the kitchen table just minutes after you tell me you haven’t even kissed anyone before now am I?”  
“I didn’t say I haven’t kissed anyone before, I just said I hadn’t enjoyed it before” Sherlock knew he was focusing on the wrong details. But his mind was flooded with images of him and John naked doing a whole lot of things he never thought he would even remotely like.   
“That feels like another conversation altogether but it doesn’t change my mind”. John let his hand on Sherlock’s knee traver up a bit and then back again. It made Sherlock draw a sharp breath of air. John smiled knowingly. He leaned in closer.   
“There are so many things I want to do to you. I want to kiss you, undress you. I want to fuck you and be fucked by you. I can’t tell how many times I imagined you and me together on every possible surface in baker street.” His voice was low and his breath was hot in Sherlock’s ear. His words sent Sherlock’s imagination into overdrive and he had to stop himself from moaning, or just pull John closer and force him to do at least one of those things. He turned his head towards John and John placed a kiss on Sherlock’s lip. A very chaste kiss considering what he had just said.   
“But you know what” John said and leaned back, not waiting for an answer. Sherlock wasn’t sure he could have gotten one out if he had tried.   
“I have been through hell the last two years.”   
“One year, eleven months and five days, yeah i know.” He said annoyed as he saw Sherlock’s face.   
“It has been hell. And I can’t… I can’t just forget and jump into whatever this is now. I need time”   
“Okay” Sherlock said slowly. He had a hard time jumping between feelings the way John did. He was still stuck at fantasising about John naked.   
“What did you think would happen?” John rose from his chair, heading for the kitchen counter. Sherlock guessed he was going to top up his drink.   
“Not this” was his first and honest answer. It made John chuckle.   
“I thought you would be at Baker street” This was harder to admit. The discrepancy between his imagination and reality made him feel foolish. John stopped pouring, but down the bottle and faced him. He looked angry but the expression fell as he saw Sherlock.   
“I couldn’t stay. It felt haunted, I felt haunted.” The silence stretched between them. Sherlock wondered where all his things were. His science equipment and his violin. He wondered how he would ever make up for what he put John through, if he could fix him.  
“Penny for your thoughts?” John’s words brought Sherlock back to the present.   
“Will we ever be okay?” John opened his mouth to answer and then shut it again. Seeming to ponder the question.   
“I’m not sure we were okay before you died. So I guess yes, I think we will”


End file.
